Web of Illusions
by a nuther
Summary: AU. A childhood of being exploited for his magical talent leads Harry Potter on a darker path through his first year at Hogwarts. Possible slash in the far future.
1. Prologue

_ SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1____Web of Illusions_: Prologue__

_By Davita_

_Summary_: AU.  After a childhood of being exploited for his magical talent, Harry Potter lives through a very different first year at Hogwarts, starting with his sorting into Slytherin, and including an unlikely friendship with Draco Malfoy and an encounter with the Dark Lord.  Possible slash in the far future.

_Disclaimer_: Harry Potter and associates belong to JK Rowling.  I own the plotline, the writing, and various unimportant original characters.

_Author's note_: Well, it's nice to be back and writing in the HP world again.  I hope enough people will enjoy this story to merit my continuing it, but I'm pretty sure that I'll stick with it anyways, at least till school starts.  The title is subject to change, since I'm still not quite happy with it.  The prologue is short, but chapters will probably be longer.

If you like it, please let me know; if you hate it, tell me why.  All and any reviews are appreciated.  Thanks!

            Six-year-old Harry Potter crouched behind the neat row of bushes that surrounded the oh-so-tidy lawn belonging to No 4 Privet Drive.  It was a good hiding place.  None but the most observant of viewers might catch sight of the brilliant green eyes that peered timidly over the hedge.  And Mrs. Green, the inhabitant of No 5, certainly did not belong to that elite group.  No, the estimable Mrs. Henry Green was currently fully engaged in a conversation with her neighbor Mrs. Dursley–really, a most respectable lady.  It wasn't her fault that she looked like a horse, poor thing. But one can't have everything....

            With a slight shake of her head, Mrs. Green brought herself back to the conversation.  "Oh, and Petunia, please do tell your darling Dudley not to tread on my tulips again...not that I mind, of course, just that Henry likes them so.  Why, isn't that your son now?"  

            Indeed it was.  Dudley was currently approaching at the pace of a rampaging elephant, followed by his loyal pack of fellow bullies.  Pausing only to stomp on the much-abused tulips, he approached his mother and managed to gasp out, "Where's Harry?"  

            Taken aback, Mrs. Dursley only managed to gasp out "I'm not sure, but sweetums–..." before being interrupted by her son's roar, "Go to it, fellas!"

            Rushing to obey Dudley's authoritative command, the group speedily dispersed and began conducting a haphazard but thorough search of the property, despite Mrs. Green's anguished wails for her ravaged tulips.  No bush was left unkicked, no tuft of grass untorn, no flower stem unsnapped.  Is it any wonder, therefore, that even Harry Potter's admirable hiding place should fall under such an assault?

            For fall it did.  Approximately five minutes into the onslaught, Piers' triumphant cry of "Got him!" brought Dudley running, with his minions trailing close behind.  Naturally, Harry started to sprint across the lawn in a futile effort to escape.  Futile, because in his haste, Harry tripped over a small rosebush and fell, sprawled across the sidewalk.  

            With a loud whoop and a fearsome battle screech, Dudley and co. ran to their fallen enemy, turned him onto his back, and surrounded him, waiting for the fun to begin.  Harry closed his eyes, knowing what was to come.  And come it did.  First a vicious kick to his shin (that would be Piers), then a weak punch in his stomach (and that had to be Eddie).  Then a pause.  Harry Potter slowly cracked an eye open. 

            That was his great mistake.  Harry cowered inwardly as Dudley's massive fist approached, a punch that would surely break his nose (not to mention his glasses).  In fear, he did the only thing he could think of to do–he brought up his hands to cover his face.  Oh, this was gonna hurt--

            Nothing happened.  Slowly, cautiously, Harry lifted his hands–and almost screamed.  Before him, Dudley stood frozen in place, his flesh morphed into stone.  He was a statue.

            "What did you do to him?" Piers whispered in disbelief.

            "I didn't do anything!" Harry cried.                                           

            The two ladies, who had hitherto been content to look on, ran over at the sudden halt in activity.  Upon catching sight of her immobile son, Mrs. Dursley was, for perhaps the first time in her life, speechless.  Her mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, without any sound escaping.  Mrs. Green, on the other hand, was delighted.

            "Why, you didn't tell me that your nephew was a magician!" she cried, forgetting the devastated tulips in light of this new revelation.

            "A–a magician?" Mrs. Dursley said shakily, before fainting unceremoniously upon the grass.  

            Mrs. Green gawked at her prone body, before looking at the boys and snapping, "Well, don't just stand there.  Pick her up!  That's right.  I knew it was too hot out here!  Little wonder she fainted, I say."  

            In the excitement, no one noticed as Dudley slowly started to move again and stomped into the house, or as Harry Potter retreated quietly to his hiding space next to the bushes.  Not even Mrs. Green, who was far too busy telling every acquaintance within five miles about her neighbor's remarkable magician–a real prodigy–and bound to sweep the world over with his talent once he made his debut in show business!

_A reminder and servile plea: Please review!_


	2. Exit the Old Life

_Web of Illusions:  Chapter 1_

_Exit the Old Life_

_By Davita_

_Disclaimer_: Harry Potter and associates belong to JK Rowling.  I own the plotline, the writing, and various unimportant original characters.

            Harry sat miserably in his cupboard, straining to hear the noises above.  As soon as Aunt Petunia had come to, she had grabbed Harry by the ear and flung him into the cupboard, along with cries of "You miserable wretch!  What have you done?  You'll be the death of us all!"  

            Now, Harry could just hear Vernon's ponderous footsteps as he entered the house.  He cringed, knowing that Uncle Vernon's rage when he found out about the--accident—would make Aunt Petunia's anger seem like hugs and kisses by comparison.  

            And indeed it did.  Upstairs, a roar of "HE DID _WHAT?!!" _reverberated throughout the house.  

            Aunt Petunia, sitting nervously on the edge of her chair, bit back angrily, "I just told you, Vernon.  That freak turned Dudley into a lump of stone and exposed his—his _unnaturalness_ to everyone in the neighborhood.  Oh, I don't know what I'm going to do," she continued, wringing her hands, "I'll be the laughingstock of the whole town!"

            "WE SHOULD NEVER HAVE TAKEN HIM IN, THAT'S WHAT!" Vernon thundered.  Under the stairs, Harry flinched.  

            "But what are we going to do now?" Petunia wailed.  "That awful Mrs. Green—do you know she had the nerve to accuse our Duddlekins of trampling her ugly flowers—she _saw…she thought that the—the boy—was a magician…and now she's going to tell every soul within hearing range…"  Poor Petunia buried her face in her hands as her sobbing escalated._

            A pause.  Then, "A magician, you say?" Vernon asked with a strange glint in his eyes.

            Petunia looked up, puzzled.  "Well, yes, that did seem to be her impression…"

            Vernon rubbed his hands together, gleefully.  "Why, that solves all of our problems, Petty!  We can get rid of the boy, none the wiser—let him be useful for once!"

            "I don't think I see what you mean, Vernon…"

            "Just get him a job with some cockamamie traveling circus or the like, let them take him off our hands, and stop by every month to collect his earnings!  Tell the neighborhood that we are allowing him to employ his prodigious talents in order to make a name for himself!  Just let him do some of his hocus-pocus—no one will ever know that it's not just a clever trick—an optical illusion, so to speak."

            Petunia gasped appreciatively.  "Why, it's perfect!  None of that freakish business around the house anymore, and a nice addition to our monthly income…all we have to do is find someone willing to take the brat."

            Vernon grunted portentously.  "Well, tomorrow's a Saturday.  I'll have time to take him around and hand him off to some oddball performers."

            "Well then, it's all settled." Pettunia smiled happily.  "I'll go get dinner started."

            The next morning saw Harry Potter trailing a jovial Vernon as they set off to look for Harry's new job.

            "I heard that there was a circus in town," Vernon muttered.  "Surely they could use a practicing magician…"

            Harry's eyes widened.  "But Uncle Vernon, I don't know how to do magic.  You always said that it was just made up, right?"

            "Be quiet, boy!" Uncle Vernon barked as he got in the car.  "Now, what was that address again?"

            Thirty minutes later, the car stopped outside of a large tent.  It was soon approached by a tall man wearing a top hat.  Vernon rolled down the window.  "Excuse me, sir," the tall man said politely, "but there isn't any show until 12 noon.  Right now it's just rehearsal."

            "That's all right," Vernon snapped.  "I'm looking to talk to the manager."

            "May I ask the nature of your business?"

            "I've got a new performer.  A child…er, _prodigy_, if you will," Mr. Dursley said distastefully.  "A real magician.  Can do all sorts of tricks."

            "A magician, eh?"  The man scrutinized Harry speculatively.  "Well, he's younger than we usually take them, but…" He paused. "Get out of the car.  Let's see what the youngster can do."

            In response to a vicious poke from Uncle Vernon, Harry shakily exited the car, followed by his uncle. 

            "Now, look here, Mister, I told you I wanted to see the manager."

            "My dear sir, I am the manager.  Now, if you please, what exactly can this boy of yours do?"

            Vernon nodded to Harry.  "You heard the man.  Show him some of your hocus pocus."

            Harry stared at Vernon.  After five years of being told that anything magic was evil and hocus pocus was strictly forbidden, the boy was unprepared for this sudden permission—or rather, order—to do magic.  The maxim that anything out of the ordinary led inevitably to swift and harsh punishment was too deeply ingrained in the boys psyche to allow him even to think of doing magic.  Besides, what was there to do?  Anytime something freakish happened, it was always an accident—not something that Harry could control.

            Maybe this was a test of sorts.  In that case, Harry knew just what to do.  He nodded to himself.  This would make Uncle Vernon happy.

            "Uncle Vernon, I don't know how to do magic.  Magic is for freaks," Harry recited firmly.

            Uncle Vernon started to turn an odd purplish color.  "Not now, boy!" he hissed.  "Just show the man what you can do, that's right!"

            Harry turned large, frightened eyes upon the tall man.  "That's right, child, just go on ahead," he said encouragingly.

            "But I don't know how!" Harry cried, utterly bewildered.

            The man turned to Vernon.  "Mister, if this is some sort of joke, please take it elsewhere.  I don't have time for hogwash."

            Vernon was, by now, a lovely plum shade.  "I assure you, it is nothing of the sort!"  He turned to Harry, whispering menacingly, "Boy, you show that man your freak stunts or you'll be locked in the cupboard until you beg for mercy—"

            Harry paled, knowing that this was no idle threat.  Images of a future spent locked in his tiny prison flashed before his eyes—no life outside—only the taunts of his sole relations—and the darkness--  Harry started to cry, quietly and hopelessly.

            The tall man gazed at Vernon with distaste.  "I suggest, sir, that you take yourself and your sniveling child back home.  We have no room in our program for this sort of _clowning."  The man smiled slightly at his own joke, before returning his attention to Mr. Dursley.  "Run along now."  He turned away._

            Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry's arms.  "You'll regret this, brat!" he stormed, dragging Harry towards the car.  "You'll be lucky if you ever see the light of day again!"

            "No!"  Harry cried in anguish, squirming out of Vernon's heavy grasp.  And as Vernon turned to pursue the boy, Harry started to lift in the air, where he hung, curled into a ball just above Vernon's reach, weeping piteously.  

            The manager, having turned around at the sound of Harry's cry, gaped in astonishment at the levitating act.  He hadn't believed it, but it seemed the boy did know his stuff.  Maybe he was just shy—

            The manager nudged Vernon, who was currently jumping in the air, grabbing vainly at Harry's feet. After several pokes, Vernon finally turned around.  "What is it?" he barked.

            "What did you say your name was, sir?" the manager asked, all politeness.

            "Vernon Dursley."

            "Ah.  Well, Mr. Dursley, it seems we may be able to find a place for your boy after all.  We'll have to give him a trial, of course…how about a week?  Very good.  In that case, you can just leave him with us.  And his name is?"

            "Harry Potter, my nephew.  I'm sure he'll be a wonderful addition—"

            "Harry Potter," the man repeated, rolling the name over his tongue.  "No, that'll never do.  How about…Fonzo.  Fonzo Sultimbanco—Wizard Prodigy, Magical Phenomenon!  Yes, yes, that'll be just fine. Well, Mr. Dursley, I'll see you next Saturday—same time, same place—and we can discuss terms—assuming, of course, that your nephew can contribute—that is, that we can use him.  Thank you very much for stopping by.  Till next Saturday, then!  Goodbye!"

            And with that, Vernon Dursley was hustled off, leaving his confused and frightened nephew hanging midair, watching as the only father figure he could remember drove away without so much as a backward glance.

_A reminder and servile plea:  Please Review!_


	3. Enter the New

_Web of Illusions: Chapter 2_

_Enter the New_

_By Davita_

_Disclaimer_: Harry Potter and associates belong to JK Rowling. I own the plotline, the writing, and various unimportant original characters.

_Author's Note:_  I'm posting faster than I had planned to, partially because I have nothing else to do, and partially because I'm hooked on my oh-so-few reviews.  I'm pleased with this chapter, despite its shortness, especially the end, which took a turn that I hadn't planned on but that fits perfectly into the storyline.  This chapter should also give you more insight into Harry's character.

            Harry sat at the back of the trailer that he'd been assigned to, and which he'd apparently be sharing with a clown and a trapeze artist.  As soon as Vernon left, the manager, whose name was Eugene Varekai, had told him in no uncertain terms, though not unkindly, to stay out of the way and get his act together.  Consequently, Harry had been herded into his trailer and left there.  

            The first thing that Harry did upon being left alone was burst into a fresh batch of tears.  The Dursleys had treated Harry terribly, but despite the fact that they were a ghastly excuse for a family, Harry was still left feeling abandoned, vulnerable, and awfully, unalterably alone.  The only family that he had ever known—possibly the only family that he ever would know—had deemed him unworthy, deserted him, sentenced him to make a living off of being a freak... And now, at five years old, he was expected to adapt to a new way of life, to earn his keep, and to perform miracles that were more like unhappy accidents…   For several minutes, Harry wallowed in his woe, pausing only to blow his nose when needed, and the trailer echoed with his sobs.

            However, even at his tender age, Harry was essentially a practical type, wont to absorb and move on rather than wallow in his grief.   To this purpose, Harry's weeping eventually quieted, and he looked out from behind his veil of tears with curious eyes.  He took a moment to conduct a survey of his surroundings.  Although the trailer wasn't large, it was comfortable and brightly decorated.  He had a small sectioned-off area to himself which allowed him a certain amount of privacy.  Despite the fact that it was approximately the same size as his cupboard, Harry found that the large window which opened onto the outside made it an infinitely cheerier space.  All in all, Harry was left feeling like he'd made a step up in life.  Maybe this new form of existence could work out after all…

            Having once decided that circus life was at least worth a shot, Harry began to ponder how he could stick around long enough to give it a fair trial.  His job here was to do magic, the one thing that he had been forbidden from doing at home.  Unfortunately, it looked to Harry as if he could never fit in to either world, since he couldn't control his magic (assuming that was what it was); it came and went as with the vagaries of its own contrary spirit.  As far as Harry could tell, there were exactly two ways to stay in the circus; either he had to learn to control his magic, which might well be impossible, or he had to pretend to control his magic using—what were they called?—magic tricks.  And that seemed to be the work of a lifetime; Harry had already seen adult apprentices struggling to learn magic tricks, so what was the chance that he could figure it out in only seven days?

            _Nothing risked, nothing gained, Harry told himself—a favorite expression of his kindergarten teacher, who belonged to a life that now seemed miles and years away. __No! Harry ordered, quickly brushing off thoughts of the past.  __I'm here now.  I only need to focus on now and the future, not…back then.  He took a deep breath.  __Nothing risked, nothing gained.  Closing his eyes, Harry reached within himself for anything that might feel like magic.  He opened his eyes.  It had felt empty inside. No magic…only the minor rumblings of a stomach accustomed to hunger.  Maybe if he concentrated harder—concentrated on floating in the air, like he had earlier in the morning.  Biting his lip, Harry concentrated.  And concentrated.  And concentrated, until he was afraid that his head would explode and his lip would be bitten all the way through.  But nothing happened.  _

            _What am I doing wrong? Harry wondered.  Maybe he ought to take a more logical approach to harnessing his magic.  _Well, it always shows up when I'm angry, or frightened…_ But that's no help, Harry thought suddenly, since he couldn't possibly be always frightened or angry if he wanted to put on a show.  Shows were about the joy of entertainment, not bitterness.  But then…_

            _Nothing risked, nothing gained…  Harry closed his eyes once again, pulling up images of Dudley and his gang chasing him, of Aunt Petunia with her frying pan ready to wallop Harry over the head, of Uncle Vernon's terrible threat … "__Brat…You'll be lucky if you ever see the light of day again…"  And of a terrifying flash of green light, a man's yell and a woman's cry, and of his own sense of anguished, uncomprehending loss…_

            Breathing heavily, Harry managed to finally wrench himself free from his living nightmares, only to find himself confronted with a creature no less surreal.  Hanging in front of him on level with his eyes was a thick black snake, which slowly uncoiled itself and began slithering toward Harry.  Harry sat frozen in place, entranced by this creature which seemed to be an embodiment of his darkest memories.  The snake moved sinuously forwards until the pale flesh of its underbelly touched Harry's arm.  Harry gasped, feeling the scales gently chafe his skin—before the snake vanished into thin air, leaving only a softly hissed message to confirm its presence—"_I'll be back, little one..."_

_            Well_, Harry though numbly, _I guess I can do magic after all.  I hope the audience won't mind if my snake shows up during performances…_

_A reminder and servile plea:  Please Review!_


	4. Serpent's Counsel

_Web of Illusions: Chapter 3_

_Serpent's Counsel_

_By Davita_

_Disclaimer_: Harry Potter and associates belong to JK Rowling. I own the plotline, the writing, and various unimportant original characters.

_Author's Note: _First of all, I would like to clarify a few points that have been called into question in reviews.  

            --to aztngr01: The snake from the end of the last chapter was not real; it was merely a magical being that Harry had called into existence.  You might think of it as the dark counterpart of a Patronus. 

            --to gingerstar and Fox890: If there is any slash, it will most certainly not be anytime soon…I've only planned up to the end of first year, and I can guarantee that thus far the story contains no slash.  If I have the patience and resolve to continue the saga into the upper years at Hogwarts, then we'll see.  Also, as always my reviewers go a long way towards shaping the story, and the storyline as well as any relationships depend on your input.  I hope this helps clear up the issue.

            --to rayvern:  It may be a bit longer before Harry enters Hogwarts; as the summary claims, this is AU, and Harry needs some time to grow into his character.

            Well, I think that covers it.  Hope you enjoy the new installment!

            Harry soon found out that life in the circus was no vacation.  He was expected to assist in every endeavor, including catering to the more experienced performers, behind-the-scenes preparations, and passing out programs to members of the audience.  As far as Harry could see, the more useful he made himself and the more indispensable his services, the harder it would be for Mr. Varekai to let him go.  And despite the hard work involved, Harry did want to stay—life as part of the company afforded him an amount of freedom that was addictive.  So Harry labored silently and without complaint, hoping that his input would not go unnoticed.

            Meanwhile, he practiced his magic, which was slowly but consistently improving.  Although the only magic that he could consciously do was summon his snake-guardian, each time he could hold onto the illusion longer before it disappeared.  Hopefully, it would suffice, since Harry didn't know exactly how many tricks were expected of him.  His first performance would be Thursday afternoon, which left him two days to perfect his staging.

            Tuesday evening, after an exhausting day under the Big Top, Harry sank into his makeshift bed and willed himself into the memory-trance that allowed his magic to surface.  Perhaps it was his exhaustion that made him careless—in any case, when he finally escaped the dungeon where he hid his most fearful demons and surged back into reality, he was confronted not only with the Snake (sometime in the past couple of days it had grown to a capital S) but also with Ariel the Clown's round face and wide eyes.

            Stifling a gasp, Harry immediately let go of his magic, banishing the snake back into himself.  Then, trembling, he slowly stood up, avoiding Ariel's gaze.  He knew that she had seen—she had been staring right at the snake, after all—but then, he had a legitimate excuse for once, didn't he?  He was a magician—that was what he did…right?  

            "Dearie, you look kind of wiped out," Ariel said with concern.  "Are you cold?  You're shivering all over."  

            "No, thank you, I'm fine," Harry said hastily.  

            "Well, if you're sure."  And with that, Ariel unhurriedly sashayed back to her side of the trailer.

            Harry gaped at her, wondering how he got off the hook so easily.  Maybe these people were just so used to magic that it no longer came as a surprise, wasn't even something of interest.  

            But days of uncertainty had taken their toll on Harry, and he hesitated, wanting to know whether he was doing okay.  Would the audience, and more importantly, would Mr. Varekai like his snake?  Ariel would know.  Ariel was nice, even motherly (insofar as Harry knew what that meant), and she would tell him the truth.  

            "Ariel," Harry started timidly, arresting her attention, "Did—er, will the snake be okay?  For the show, I mean?"

            Ariel gave him an odd look.  "What snake?...Harry, are you sure you're okay?"

            "The—the snake—you know, the one with me when you first came in…" Harry trailed off.  Maybe she hadn't seen it.  Maybe she just wasn't paying attention.  But no, snakes were the kind of creatures that grabbed your attention, whether you wanted it or not—and she _had been looking straight at it…_

            "Harry, I don't think there was a snake—I mean, if there had been, I'm sure I would have noticed it.  Snakes aren't the kind of thing that one misses, if you know what I mean."  She laughed nervously.  "Now, what would you be doing playing with snakes anyway?  Here, I'll make you a good cup of tea.  You've been real busy today—I noticed, no wonder you're tired.  You just get a good rest, okay?"  She stopped to tousle Harry's ever-messy hair, before moving to the kitchenette, leaving Harry's head spinning with questions.  

            How had Ariel missed the Snake?  She had no reason to lie to him.  Either she was frightfully inobservant or verging on blind…or it simply wasn't visible to her.  Which brought up a whole new set of issues.

            _Maybe the Snake would know, Harry thought suddenly.  As of yet he hadn't tried to communicate, content merely to see and feel it and to hear its vague hissing.  Since its first appearance, the Snake hadn't said anything, either.  __Maybe it's waiting for me to make the first move.  That made sense.  _

            "Harry, your tea's ready," Ariel called, startling him out of his reverie.  He moved over to the counter where his steaming mug was waiting.  _I'm running out of time, Harry realized.  __I can't wait till tomorrow to get my answers.  I'll have to try again tonight, no matter how tired I am._

Consequently, late that night saw Harry Potter sitting cross-legged on his bed with his eyes closed, biting his lip for all he was worth.  The Snake came more quickly this time, although Harry wasn't sure whether that was because his magic was easier to summon or because he growing more apt at submerging himself in his memories.  The thought wasn't altogether pleasant.  Harry shifted his attention to the Snake.

            "Hello," he whispered.

            The Snake eyed him silently.

            "What are you?  Why didn't Ariel see you?" Harry blurted out.

            "_Ariel?"___

"The lady from earlier.  She lives here, too."

            "_I remember."  A pause.  "_Harry, I am a magical being.  Not every common person can see me.  Only a select few.  You happen to be one of them—even were you not my creator, you could still detect my presence."__

 "But--then I can't possibly use you in my act!" Harry cried, aghast.

            The Snake curved its mouth in what Harry interpreted as the serpentine equivalent of a thin smile.  "_Harry, you were made for greater things than a second-rate circus."  Its hiss was heavy with scorn.  "_I could teach you magic that would make the tricks here seem like the child's play they are."__

Harry's eyes widened.  _"_You can teach me?" he whispered hoarsely.

            For the first time, the Snake seemed reluctant to respond, but after a moment it had apparently overcome its qualms.  "_Your magic is tightly bound to your emotions.  It hides behind them. When you lose control of your emotions, your magic may peer out, show itself for just an instant.  But in order for you to reach your full potential as a wizard, you must extricate it and tame it to your will, to stand at your beck and call."_

For a moment, Harry searched for that indescribable presence—his magic—that he instinctively felt should be there.  But where was it?  "I can't," Harry muttered.  He opened his eyes.  "I don't have magic—it comes and goes, but it's not _mine._"

            _"And that, my young friend, is the problem," the Snake informed him.  "_One that is not easy to fix, I'm afraid.  But let me see if I can help.  I have a gift, one that hopefully can aid you in dealing with your power…Close your eyes."__

Harry obeyed; his own instinct had always told him that magic was closer when perceptions of reality had dimmed.   He felt as the Snake coiled around his neck, slithered up his skull, pausing only to bestow a flickering kiss on each sealed eyelid.  When Harry opened his eyes again, the Snake had disappeared.

            _A reminder and servile plea:  Please Review!_


	5. A Day at the Ruckus

_Web of Illusions: Chapter 4_

_A Day at the Ruckus_

_By Davita_

_Disclaimer_: Harry Potter and associates belong to JK Rowling. I own the plotline, the writing, and various unimportant original characters.

_Author's Note_:  Thanks to rayvern for pointing out the errors in grammar/diction in the last chapter.  An updated version, hopefully error-free, has been posted.  I try to proofread my work before I post it, but unfortunately I don't always catch every mistake. 

            Hope you like!

            Afternoon was always the busiest time on the circus grounds, and Wednesday was no exception.  Harry was fully occupied passing out programs to incoming members of the audience, pausing only to guide lost customers to their seats.  His break came as the show began, and Harry gratefully sank into the nearest available chair, a hideous lime-green concoction that was generally hidden backstage.  He wondered for a minute whether he had enough energy to tote it back where it belonged, before deciding that his feet had already suffered enough abuse for one day and that for their sake he had better stay put.

            Pulling at his glasses, Harry rubbed his eyes absently for what felt like the hundredth time that day.  They were probably all red and swollen by now, Harry thought with a sigh.  His first idea when he had woken up in the morning seeing dull brown halos surrounding everyone in his line of vision was that it was time for a new prescription.  After all, the last time he had been outfitted with new glasses was a few years ago—it made sense that his sight would have altered in the interim.  But now, thinking back on the Snake's kiss, he wasn't so sure.  When he had opened his eyes after receiving the serpent's alleged gift, nothing had changed, and Harry had dismissed it as an empty gesture, merely an accessory to the mystery and drama that the Snake so loved to accompany its presence.  But of course, he hadn't seen anyone at the time; it had been too late to socialize, and he had promptly put out the light and gone to sleep.  It hadn't been until morning that he had been confronted with this new aspect to his vision.

            Still, what could be the point of this so-called gift?  So he saw people a little brown—what of it?  It was hardly helping him to find his magic or even to make up a trick or two to show off to a crowd.  In fact, it looked sort of ugly—kind of like overnight all the people in the world had been dunked in a cup of coffee, without cream, and were now left stained from the pigment.  Well, not quite, but that was the color at least.  Some gift.  _I don't suppose I could return it and ask for a bike in exchange…_

            Tired of trying to rationalize the Snake's present with no results, Harry stood up and strode through the small flap that led into the Big Top.  At least there he could be of some use, and it might help take his mind off things.  "Things" being the fact that he had only one day left to figure out how to convince Mr. Varekai to give him a job, and he was still no closer to solving the problem than he had been on day one.

            Creeping around Mr. Daniels, the Backstage Coordinator, Harry peeked around the curtains.  Having been with the circus only a few days, it still awed him to see thousands of faces in the audience all staring with round eyes and open mouths at the stage.  Needless to say, he had never seen anything like it in the duration of his stay at the Dursley's.

            But today, only halfway through his ritual of surveying the audience, calculating its size and its interest in the performance that unfolded in the arena, Harry's attention was caught by one man in the back row and his surrounding brood of children.  For a moment, Harry couldn't figure out what had drawn his eyes to that particular corner of the tent…there was something different about them, they stood out, almost as though they were brighter than everyone else in the dimly-lit circus tent…  It had to do with the brownish auras.  Theirs was lighter, and far more obvious—if everyone else's was like coffee, then theirs must have been the cream.  _It must have something to do with magic_, Harry thought.  That was the only thing that could connect the Snake's gift to this odd new ability.  _Maybe they deal with magic too._  Intrigued, Harry crept quietly out of the tent, forgetting entirely his intention of helping out, and stationed himself on a platform outside where he would be sure to have a good view of the individuals in the audience as they swarmed outside after the show.

            Sure enough, his perch afforded him a clear view of the heads bobbing up and down as the audience exited.  However, it turned out to be unnecessary; his family was if anything more conspicuous outside than in.  It wasn't the auras, although they still shone with a brightness all their own; rather, it was the field of red hair that made the family stand out.  As they passed by Harry's station, he heard the man—father, presumably—gasping excitedly, "A muggle ruckus, boys!  Wait, no, I mean, surkus!  How did it go?  I thought they did wonderfully!  Doing all this without magic, too!" he continued, while Harry's ears pricked at his mention of magic.  "I tell you boys, muggles are a race to be admired.  The stuff they manage to pull off…absolutely awe-inspiring."  

            Stifling a giggle at the man's muddled excitement, Harry decided it might be worthwhile to find out a bit more about this unusual family.  If he hadn't seen their auras, Harry would have dismissed the father as a lunatic—but he knew there was something special about this family, and he also knew that magic existed.  Definitely worth investigating.  Harry hopped off his stand and moved quickly after the family, just catching the shortest boy's whining, "Daddy, I like Quidditch better.  Can we play Quidditch instead next time?" before their voices were lost amid the roar of the crowd.

            It wasn't a particularly hard family to follow.  Their bright red hair set them apart from the crowd, they moved in a large group, and they were plenty noisy.  In addition, Harry was quick and blended easily into the background (a product of years' experience escaping Dudley and avoiding his surrogate family).  Fortunately, they didn't use a car; instead, Harry followed them to the train station.  Here was the first obstacle that Harry ran into, since he had no money to purchase a train ticket.  He hid himself behind the wall of redheads, praying that his small form would go unnoticed.  And for the most part, it did.  The conductor passed by him quickly, never casting his eyes downward where he might catch sight of Harry's nervous mien.  One of the redhead boys sent a curious glance in his direction, but was distracted by the train's timely jerking into motion.  Harry cautiously moved toward the end of the car, careful to station himself where he could still see the redhead family.  It was only then that he began to question his decision in coming with the family—earlier he had been too caught up in the moment to consider his situation.  To be honest, when he had first headed after the family, he hadn't expected to get any further than the parking lot before being left behind, but here he was heading on a train to who knows where, with no money for transportation home….  _Stupid! Harry though angrily at himself.  __I know finding out about magic is important, but it's hardly worth risking my future over… Harry resolutely quashed all such self-recriminations before they incapacitated him; now, more than ever, he needed to be able to think quickly on his feet without distractions.___

            Finally, the train slid to a halt, and Harry followed his target family discretely through the exit.   Looking around, he recognized the location as London—although he'd rarely been there, the tall buildings and hurried passersby were a sure giveaway.  He gawked, before remembering his mission:  follow the redheads at all costs.  (Harry had decided that hitching a train ride to London definitely qualified as "all costs," and he wouldn't want to waste all that effort now, would he?)  They hustled through the busy streets until they stopped before a small, dingy pub and turned in.  Evidently this was their destination.  Harry eyed it dubiously—it didn't look all that reputable, between its shabby appearance and the oddly-clothed customers Harry glimpsed through the windows.  But once again, he wasn't about to let all of his hard work go to waste.  So, taking a deep breath, he cast caution to the wind and strode into the pub before prudence had a chance to rear its ugly head.

_A reminder and servile plea: Please Review!  
_


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